Shifting Roles
by Sprint to Finish
Summary: Trapped- he has her pegged and all she wants to know is why. Why her? And why him? All she had to do was follow his directions and play his game; then everything would go back to normal. So how had it come to this- with blood on her hands? Dark fic, AU.


**A/N:** I am stepping into a new genre. Dean Koontz, James Patterson and Stephen King have me seeing ghosts and shady plots everywhere: now I want to try my hand at the type of storytelling they have made me fall in love with (please note, this is not going to be a supernatural fic). This story will get rather dark: Be prepared for blood and character death.

Also bear in mind that this is just a quick prologue: I promise the future chapters will be longer. :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Naruto._

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**PROLOGUE: Let it Begin**

When a deafening silence overtakes a room, it is almost a physical phenomenon, as though the very air is being compressed. She felt that now.

Staring at the body lying prone on the ground at her feet, Hinata could barely breathe, suffocating in the pressure bearing down on her. For a moment, she couldn't seem to understand what she was seeing- the flow of blood slowly spreading a red pool beneath the man's body confused her. And then, just as suddenly, she stumbled back as though a switch had been flipped in her understanding. Blood-stained hands swung wildly as a scream tore its way from her throat.

"_Nooo_!"

()

_Six days earlier._

There she was: the one he had set his sights on. In her working attire, she appeared crisp and professional; extremely well put together in a dark skirt and white button up shirt accentuated with lace. Dark hair- which glinted a deep shade of purple in certain light- was pulled back into a bun. She was walking next to the other one, the loud one- his secondary target.

He has been monitoring them for weeks now, analyzing them for potential. It's been nearly four months since he moved to this city, and by now he is feeling restless; but now is not the time to be hasty. Patience. He hasn't gotten this far in life by running blindly and giving in to every fancy that flashes through his mind. Planning is his forte, drilled into him and perfected since birth.

The couple passes right by him in the hall, paying no attention to his presence. Why should they? Blending in is also his domain. Being a master of deception is his life.

Turning his head, he watches as the two continue down the hall of the building and turn the corner. Once they are out of sight, he allows himself to smirk. After so much meticulous planning and preparing; finally, he is ready to begin again.

Only one thing remains to be done.

After waiting a moment more he picks up his possessions and turns, walking down the hall in the same direction the man and woman had gone; an elevator waits for him just around the corner. He whistles to himself during the ride down to the lobby, a tune he can remember from his childhood, though not the name of. The first floor is nearly empty; beyond the glass windows the sky is already darkening.

He waves to the security guard loitering in the lobby. The badge gives a tired wave back.

In the parking lot, he bypasses both new and clearly aged cars and heads for a white van with a ridiculous picture painted on its side of a burnt out cartoon light bulb- complete with arms and legs- looking sickly as it is carted away on a stretcher by two rather cheerful cartoon men in coveralls. Ignoring the distasteful image, he unlocks the door and settles in the driver's seat: Time to go home, where his guest is surely waiting now that the time has come again.

There is order to his life. Every step is planned. He drives to an underground parking lot twenty minutes from the work building, exchanging the rather conspicuous van for a more low-key dark blue car across the lot. Behind the wheel, he feels more like himself, and even more eager to reach his destination.

After arriving home and locking the door behind him, he heads for the kitchen and pulls out a bottle of wine that he has been saving since arriving in the city. It's the same every time: the first thing he buys when he settles in a new place is a bottle of expensive wine, not to be opened until the moment they decide to begin again. It is a tradition he will never stop honoring. From the cupboard he withdraws two fragile wine glasses. These too are sacred to him, having belonged to a four piece set of his mother's. Aside from them, he owns only one other item from his deep past.

The apartment he currently rents is small, sparsely furnished. The uninviting atmosphere of the abode doesn't bother him, though; it is only temporary.

Kicking his shoes off outside the living room entrance, he shuffles to the only piece of sitting furniture in the room: a couch that he bought at a thrift store for only twenty bucks. Sure, the fabric covering is pink, but the couch is deliciously comfortable, and it took little to no time at all to clean it up. He takes a seat in the right-hand corner, propping his feet up on the small coffee table (one that had been left by the dumpster of his apartment). Stacks of papers litter its surface, and he is careful not to knock them over. They are crucial to his survival here.

Closing his eyes, he leans his head back for a moment. He is thinking back, reviewing everything he has seen and planned. The wine bottle remains unopened on the table. He won't open it yet, not until his guest arrives. He cannot drink- or even dare to _begin_- without knowing he has _his_ blessing.

"What are you planning now, Little Brother?"

A smile spreads across his lips at the voice. _He_ is here.

"Something I believe will prove to be fairly entertaining." The man doesn't open his eyes as he replies. In his mind, he can see his guest more clearly than if he were before his open eyes. "We've been in this city for almost four months now. It's time to have some real fun; and while the people here are exceptionally boring and stupid, I believe I have found one who may prove to be otherwise."

"The girl is weak. You should choose someone more fitting for us to play with."

A small chuckle rumbles up from his chest. "Of course, she seems weak on the outside. I promise you, though, that she has the capacity to display great strength and determination. Her reactions will prove to be most amusing: She won't disappoint us. Even better is the one she desires. He is perfect for my plan."

His guest doesn't answer, and for a moment he is afraid that he may not be given permission to carry out what he has been preparing. At the last city he'd lived in, their tradition had not operated according to his specifications. Did _he_ think the same thing would happen here? The mistake hadn't been his fault, but it was enough to make him cautious before trying again. And yet still his visitor was silent: Perhaps _he_ believes he is losing his touch?

"She won't conform to the rules," the masculine voice of his guest finally says. "She is weak, and her weakness will lead to an early end. She won't be able to stand up to the pressure. What a waste, Little Brother. Do you not remember what happened last time?"

So, he had been correct in his assumptions. Scoffing, the man on the couch leans forward to place his chin on his raised, interlocked fingers; closed eyes tense under narrowing eyebrows. "You underestimate the ridiculous love she carries for that idiot. I assure you that I have planned carefully this time. She is a worthy opponent; she won't dare to step outside the box I will draw for her. Last time was a result of acting too hastily; the girl wasn't willing to play like I had presumed. Even so, we still came out victorious- you know that failure is not a part of my vocabulary."

He paused. Certainty was coursing through him: the pair he had chosen was special. "This time will be different. I've watched carefully; this girl has potential. And the man will be a joy to deal with. I promise you, it will be a glorious ride."

A victorious smirk graces his features. He can feel the consideration streaming through his guest.

"I will not be responsible for your failure."

"Your heartfelt approval is appreciated," he drawls sarcastically. "You have seen her. Can you not feel the intensity of her reserved intellect and passion? To see that passion unhinged; do you not wish to feel it?"

Silence. He waits in the dark, eyes closed.

"Do not disappoint me, Little Brother."

It is the answer he has been waiting for.

Opening dark eyes to an equally dark and empty room, he smiles at the approval. "Of course."

Reaching forward, he pops the cork off the waiting bottle and pours a portion of the shimmering liquid into the wine glasses. Carefully picking one up and settling the stem between his fingers so the cup can rest against his palm, he leaves the second glass filled on the table. For a moment, he simply swirls the dark liquid around, watching as it churns contained in his hand.

This is what he has been waiting for. He can almost taste the excitement running through his body at what he has planned. It's been a while since he's had some true fun, and tonight it will begin again; there is much work to do.

Allowing a small smile to grace his lips, he raises his wine glass to a toast.

"To Miss Hinata Hyuuga: may you shatter more beautifully than your predecessors." He takes a long sip, savoring the subtle complexity of flavor playing over his palate. Leaning back against the cushions, his eyes lower to lock on the second glass of wine, still sitting untouched on the table.

"A new game has begun, Big Brother."

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**A/N: **So, as of right now I have the story listed with only Hinata as a character, but I'm thinking of also adding our main antagonist (whose identity I am fairly certain you have all figured out, clever people that you are). Please note that if I do decide to add him, this does not mean that there will be a romantic relationship between the two of them. I have other plans for the lovely Miss Hyuuga. ;) Likes, dislikes, and constructive criticism all absolutely welcome. This is my first multi-chapter fic, so anything you have to say I'd love to hear. :)


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